


Only You

by offwithmyhead



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 19:46:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5304467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/offwithmyhead/pseuds/offwithmyhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver tries to deal with Connor not being around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only You

 

Rainy mornings used to be Oliver’s favourite type of morning to wake up to – rainy mornings meant snuggling with Connor under heavy covers, cool lips to warm skin, just two people stupid in love hidden away from the world. Sometimes, when both of them had nowhere to be, rainy mornings meant breakfast eaten haphazardly in bed, with crumbs on the sheets accompanied with fevered kisses and the slow, familiar burn in the push and pull of their bodies.

Now rainy mornings only means a bed that is too big for Oliver, and the chill of the morning has somehow seeped under the covers. Oliver blearily reaches out for some comfort – warm feet, the gentle slope of a shoulder, a toned stomach – and realizes with a sinking feeling that he’s alone. Oliver gives himself a mental shake - you're ok, Ollie, you're doing great, one more morning, one more day - and he repeats the mantra as he kicks back the covers and slowly slip out of bed.

\--

Oliver puts on a shirt of Connor's over his sweat pants and pulls out the mess of Connor’s undershirts, his boxers and sleep pants – and finds a camera stuffed at the very back of the drawer. Oliver recognizes it - it had been an impulse buy on Connor’s part; the digital camera had been on sale and he had brought it home, placed it on the countertop with a smirk where Oliver had been preparing dinner. Connor had just waggled his eyebrows and Oliver had understood immediately.

He prided himself on being the practical one, and he had valiantly said no, but Connor, being Connor, always got his way, especially when he had turned those liquid brown eyes to Oliver and smothered him in wet kisses.

Oliver runs a finger along the camera’s lens. He contemplates it, then pushes it back into the drawer.

\--

The rain has slowed to a soft patter against his windows, and Oliver’s eating breakfast when his phone buzzes with a text message.

_Michaela, 09:35am_

_Hey Oliver, I’m so sorry, I overslept. Late night at the office. See you at noon instead?_

Oliver types out a reply and swallows the last of his bagel. He pours more coffee into Connor's favourite mug and shuffles to the living room, peeking through the window blinds. It's a light drizzle now, and might fully stop by the time Michaela picks him up.

The big windows had been one of Connor's favourite parts of the apartment. Being on the third floor, they weren't that high up, but it was high enough to look at the people walking down the sidewalk, or check out the line outside their favourite cafe. They had always talked about moving the computer desk and making a settee near the windows, complete with throw pillows of every size available (Connor's idea), but they never found the time to work on that little side project.

Oliver scans the sidewalk and his gaze moves to the apartment building just across them. He smiles into the mug as he remembers how Connor had also loved the windows for less innocent reasons.

Connor had Oliver bent over the computer desk one grey morning, the window blinds drawn. If Oliver tries hard enough he could still bring back the memory of that day - the smell of coffee and burnt toast in the air, the mint on Connor's breath, the firm curl of his fingers under his jaw, the burning heat of his skin. The slap of their flesh as Connor pushed into him and their laboured breaths and moans sounded obscene and unnaturally loud in the quiet of the morning.

"Look up, Ollie," Connor had whispered harshly into his ear, "imagine them looking at you." Oliver had looked up like he was told to, had blindly stared at the dark windows of the apartment complex opposite theirs, but it had been hard to worry about people seeing them when Connor was pounding the very soul out of him. The idea of being watched though, had been such a turn on, the intensity of his climax had literally brought him to his knees.

Connor had received a note later that week, from a couple who were regulars at the cafe they frequented. Although Oliver had turned red with embarrassment, and vehemently swore that he would never do it again, it never stopped them from putting up a repeat performance...or two.

 _If you and your partner are ever up for an adventure_ , the note had read. The couple had signed off as Alex and Damien, and they lived on the fourth floor of the apartments across theirs.

Underneath it, however, Connor had scrawled in his bold handwriting - **The only adventures I want are with you. Only you.**

Oliver had stuck the note onto the fridge. Like everything else of Connor's in the apartment, he never puts any of it away, and so there the note sits, slightly crumpled, the inked words slowly fading away.

\--

Oliver goes back to his bedroom and brings out the camera. He connects the cables to the television screen, settles back onto the sofa with his coffee and after a moment's hesitation, selects a random video and presses play.

The screen goes dark. There's the sound of shuffling for a couple of seconds, and suddenly the camera zooms out and focuses. Oliver checks out the timestamp - it was in the first month since they had started living together and Oliver onscreen was obviously getting ready to go to work.

_"Connor...seriously?"_

Oliver watches his younger self scrunch up his nose, frozen in place. He is dressed in nothing but his boxer shorts, a socked foot halfway into his dress pants. The camera shakes when Connor laughs.

_"Ollie, come on."_

The screen goes dark for a while, but it's still recording, though the sounds are a bit muffled.

_"Connor, I am not risking having our sex tape online!"_

_"Do you think I'm gonna leak it for the world to see? Though on second thought, I can share this and be the envy of everyone and everyone will know what they're miss- - oof."_

The screen focuses again - he has tackled Connor to the bed and straddled him, effectively pinning Connor to the bed. The camera has obviously fallen out of Connor's hands - the angle is dodgy and Oliver can't see their faces but their bodies from the chest down are framed perfectly. Oliver watches the rise and fall of Connor's chest as he struggles slightly, writhing under his weight.

_"No sharing. At all."_

_"No sharing, Ollie. Just you. Only you."_

Connor sounds breathless and in his mind's eye, Oliver brings up the image of Connor's face - his slack open mouth, the arousal in his eyes, a beautiful blush riding high on his cheeks. He watches as he lowers himself, pressing his body flush against Connor. His face slowly enters the frame, eyes closed as he bites and licks his way down Connor's stomach.

Connor’s hand reaches down and cups Oliver’s face, and he opens his eyes as he kisses Connor’s wrist. Oliver onscreen tilts his face…and his mouth falls open when he realizes the camera is still recording.

_"CONNOR I HATE YOU!"_

Manic laughter follows Oliver onscreen as he jumps off Connor and throws a pillow at his face. Connor easily catches the flying article and sits up, his face finally entering the frame. Oliver takes in a sharp breath, fingers curling tight around the coffee mug.

 _"Ollie? I love you so much, babe."_ Connor says to the camera. His smile is wide and open, and so breathtakingly beautiful.

Connor winks at the camera and blows a kiss, and the screen goes black.

\--

Pictures, so many pictures Connor had sneakily taken of him and Oliver goes through them, the memories rushing over him in waves.

There's one of him standing in the kitchen, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he pencils in the crossword puzzle. Standing at the bathroom sink, shaving; wolfing down breakfast; reading in bed. There are also pictures he had taken of Connor - Connor at the beach, hair tousled by the wind and his head thrown back in a laugh. Connor frowning over his books, a pencil tucked behind his ear. Connor standing near the apartment windows in the early light of the morning, Connor making kissy faces at the camera. There are random pictures of dogs, and sunsets, coffee cups and pastries, a series of funny face selfies. A picture of Connor with a whole hamburger stuffed in his mouth, a picture of them in bed with Oliver asleep and drooling on his shoulder.

There are also pictures from the trip they took to Michigan to meet Connor's sister, and a picture Gemma had taken of them secretly - they're sitting on the sofa in the family room, Oliver's socked feet in Connor's lap, smiling at each other like they shared a secret that was theirs, and theirs alone.

Oliver looks through the pictures one by one, until he comes to the very last one. It's of him in bed, lying on his stomach, naked except for the sheets over the curve of his ass. His left arm is outstretched, beckoning for Connor, half of his sated, smiling face hidden in the pillows.

_Oliver watches drowsily as Connor picks up his shirt and slips it on. He reaches out an arm, snuffling into Connor’s pillow as he fights back the sleep. He hears the shutter of the camera but he ignores it – they really need to talk about Connor’s personal stash of his naked pictures – but that can wait._

_“You can't just do that and leave. C’mere."_

_Connor puts away the camera and the bed dips as he sits cross-legged beside Oliver. He leans down and gently kisses his temple. His hands slip under the sheets, down to Oliver’s naked hip. "It's your day off, you deserve the rest. I- I need to go. Bonnie called us in."_

_"Hmmm. I miss you already." Oliver murmurs, his eyes sliding close. Connor's hand is warm as he caresses Oliver's waist, the gentle curve of his spine._

_"I miss you all the time."_

_Oliver huffs out a laugh, catches Connor's hand in his and intertwines their fingers together._

_"Sap. Stay with me."_

_Connor is quiet beside him. The grip on his hand tightens and Oliver struggles to open his eyes._

_"Connor...?"_

_"Always know that I love you. You're everything. You mean everything. Only you."_

_Oliver smiles sleepily, closes his eyes as Connor presses one last kiss to his shoulder._

_"Gonna return the favour when you get home. Just you wait," he mumbles, shifting to Connor's side of the bed._

_"I'll hold you to that, Ollie."_

_\--_

Oliver never got to fulfil that promise.

Because Connor never came back home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

\--

Sometimes, Oliver thinks that maybe it was all his fault – maybe he should have stayed away when Connor had told him to. Maybe he should have dug deeper, pushed Connor harder. For a moment, he thinks that maybe he should have walked away, spared them both this pain, but he quickly discards that thought.

Connor was never forthcoming with what exactly he had done for Annalise, but there had been signs that he wasn’t ok and was spiraling into depression. His anxiety attacks had worsened, and many nights Oliver had woken up to Connor curled up in a ball in bed, shivering in cold sweat. Getting Connor to open up about it, however, had been the cause of many arguments, and Oliver had learned to give up battles he knew he couldn’t win. So he had let Connor fight his own demons and tried to be there when Connor needed comfort.

 _You keep me sane, Ollie_ , he had mumbled into his neck, tears soaking Oliver's shirt. _You keep me right. Don't leave me, please don't ever leave me._

But it doesn’t stop him from thinking that he might have been able to protect Connor. If only Connor had let him. _Protect._ Oliver lets out a bubble of incredulous laughter. Isn’t that why they’ve ended up here? Because they both wanted to protect the other from the consequences?

As always, Connor does whatever he wants, and gets his way. That fucking idiot.

“Oliver?” Michaela’s voice gently interrupts his thoughts, and her hand is on his arm. Oliver realizes he’s been pulling the sweater sleeves over his hands – when did he ever pick up Connor’s bad habit? – and looks away from the car window and into her concerned eyes. She looks impeccable in her burgundy turtleneck and checkered skirt. Her hair falls in large waves down her shoulders, the light floral scent of her perfume fills the car.

 _It should have been you. It should have been them_ , he thinks selfishly. _It should have been me. Not him, never him._

“Sorry. You were saying something?”

Michaela clears her throat. “Frank says he’s got some people…on the inside. Looking after him. After…after that incident –I just thought you might want to know.”

Oliver nods, fidgets at a thread. That incident, he had learned much later from Michaela, had been an altercation that resulted in a fight with another inmate. Connor had stopped him from visiting, had even temporarily cancelled Oliver’s name off the visitors’ list because he didn’t want Oliver to see how bad it was.  

“We… Oliver, we’re still trying. Bonnie’s got a plan that might work and Laurel is … –“

Oliver shakes his head and starts to unbuckle his seatbelt. “I don’t want to know. It's been too long. Just- just get him out of there. Do whatever you have to do, whatever it takes. I just want him out.”

“Oliver, the deal he made, he specifically left us instructions not to implicate –“

Oliver climbs out of Michaela’s car and slams the door close. He knows what she’s going to say, has heard it a million times. He repeats the same mantra to himself every morning when he wakes up to the deafening silence of the apartment. He tells himself the same thing when he sees Connor’s belongings scattered in his apartment, feels it in the empty, cold bed, the fading scent of Connor's shampoo and cologne on his sheets. 

Oliver tries to feel thankful.

He tries very hard not to hate himself.

_For you. He did it for you, Oliver. He’s protecting you._

 --

Oliver sits up straighter in his seat when the door opens, eyes searching for a familiar face. He's been in this visiting room numerous times over the past six months, with its many little cubicles and phone receivers, separated from the inmates by thick, protective glass barriers. The visitor in the cubicle beside him has started to wail, so Oliver discreetly stands up and moves away to the very last cubicle. 

He shouldn't have taken out that camera, looked at the videos and pictures that morning. The memories are startlingly clear and fresh in his mind, and have re-opened a gaping, bleeding wound in his heart. 

The door opens again, and Oliver pulls himself together, musters up a watery smile.

It's an act, Oliver knows, he needs to survive and hold on until they get him out of there, Michaela had told him. The man he sees in that orange jumpsuit has beefed up considerably, biceps straining against the fabric. He's lost some weight, his features are sharper, face longer. His beard is trimmed neatly, his hair slightly long and falls over his eyes. He's still devastatingly beautiful, Oliver thinks, moving his chair closer to the protective glass. He moves with a confident swagger, demanding attention, eyes hooded and calculating, and for some reason, Oliver thinks back of the very first time they had met at the bar.

_Makers Manhattan. Two cherries._

_Just say the word and we'll start making out._

_I want this too._

Dark eyes scan the room until they fall on Oliver, and with each step towards Oliver, the mask falls off steadily, layer by layer.

"Ollie," the man on the other side of the glass mouths - the tension in his shoulders and face slowly relaxes, thin lips rise in the hint of a smile, the eyes lose its hardness as brown eyes meet Oliver's. His fingertips press against the glass as he sits down. 

Oliver picks up the phone and waits until the other has his receiver pressed against his ear.

Oliver thinks of just how much he loves and misses this man, how he is the only reason why Oliver's sitting at the other side of the glass. He thinks of the people working to get him out, the people working to protect him from the outside, and knows that he is probably the only person who is keeping him together, keeping him sane. Keeping him _alive._

Oliver raises his own hand to the glass, and smiles.

"Hello, Connor."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't quite like how this ended, but I was running out of steam (and patience with myself! :P) and I liked the first part too much to not post it. XD
> 
> Hope you enjoyed reading it, I quite enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Edit: Sorry everyone, don't think there will be a second part to this...but all the comments are LOVELY, thank you :)


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